


Nice and Proper

by Desi (desi_dangerous)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, ficlet request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1551575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desi_dangerous/pseuds/Desi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short little ficlet inspired by jokertookmypicture's tumblr request for a hug/prolonged goodbye scene in episode 4x04. </p><p> I couldn’t resist hearing Bronn’s thoughts on the whole thing.  What Jaime does with his advice, of course, is entirely up to the reader. </p><p>Hope you like it, Joker!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice and Proper

Brienne turns around to glance behind one last time and Jaime suddenly finds something lodged in the back of his throat.

Just this morning, sending the wench away had seemed like a simple yet elegant solution to a very knotted problem. Joff was dead. Cersei blamed him. Tyrion was on trial and his young wife, the one and the same Sansa Stark whom Jaime given his rotten word to keep safe, was now wanted as an accessory to murder.

He knows that Brienne was a woman of her word. In giving her a sword, armor, and a noble quest, Jaime was satisfied in thinking that he could repay his gratitude by giving her everything she'd ever wanted—a noble, knightly quest—while simultaneously easing his own conscience. He was looking forward to no longer losing anymore sleep over auburn-haired girls and unfulfilled promises to dead women. 

And yet, as he stands there in the middle of the king’s road, watching the big wench’s chin tremble and turn her head to ride away, Jaime is suddenly struck by the terrifying notion that maybe he _isn't_ quite so relieved to see her go after all. That maybe the lump in his throat is telling him that, in his rush to pack her off and send her off discreetly and out of the way of his warring siblings, there was something else he hadn't considered.

Had it been this difficult to bid her farewell in Harrenhal? Somehow, he cannot recall her being close to tears at the thought of being left alone with Locke and his pack of jackals. No, it was he who was so moved. Though he tried as he might to console himself with thoughts of sapphires and passionately cajoling a relieved Cersei into releasing the Stark girls upon his return, he’d felt remorse for having to leave a good and honorable woman to fend for herself in the belly of the beast. 

Today, however, Jaime feels no shame. He is not guilty. He knows he is doing the right thing. He is helping save an innocent and frightened child.  He is keeping his promise. He is helping Brienne keep _her_ promise. Yet, weird bubbles of anxiety fizz and pop in his lungs and it all feels strangely like he is losing a battle he never realized he'd been fighting. 

' _I'll find her_ ,' he hears Brienne say again in his head. ' _For Lady Catelyn... and for you_.'

 Jaime blinks hard, momentarily dizzy with the realization of just how much he'd let the Tarth woman worm her way underneath his skin. Her eyes. By the Seven—they had been so earnest and so blue. Surely, she had to know what effect those words would have had. What naming the bloody sword _that_  would mean to a man like him. 

 “You sure this is wise, m’lord?" Bronn asks, suddenly appearing next to his elbow.  "Giving a wench a sword and a green boy?”

"Her name is Brienne," Jaime corrects automatically, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead. The figure in blue armor is gradually growing smaller and smaller while the knot in his gut keeps winding tighter and tighter. He clears his throat and forces himself to adopt the manner of an unconcerned, bored little lordling.  "I'd seen her face a bear in little more than a tattered pink dress and a tourney sword. That woman is as strong and capable as she is…large.”

"Is she now?" Bronn raises both brows and looks over in Brienne's direction, clearly impressed. "Wonder why you choose to put up with my arse with sparring, then. Didn't want to disappoint the lady? Or was it that you didn't want to be caught bested by a woman?"

 _Both_ , Jaime thinks, gifting Bronn with an irritated look. Out of anyone, Brienne would have understood his predicament and honorably offered to assist. She'd even hinted at the idea of the two of them sparring after admitting her boredom with leisurely strolls in the garden. Yet, somehow, Jaime couldn't bring himself to ask.

A large part of it had been pride. Brienne had been the last person to see him fight with both hands and, though he’d deny it if asked, he knew that she beat him sorely. Jaime had been hoping to build up his strength and challenge her to a rematch once he worked up a respectable amount of skill—show her he wasn't just broken promises and a celebrated name.

But now, it would seem, they would not get the chance. The thought saddens him more than he could’ve expected.

 "Well, I suppose it’s much safer out there than it is here," Bronn claps a hand over Jaime’s shoulder, changing the subject. "The queen doesn’t seem like people too short.  Not much of a stretch to say she’d hate ‘em tall too."

 _"_ There's little these days that my dear sister doesn't hate," Jaime replies bitterly. The heavy gold weight attached to his right forearm reminds him of that every day.  Whatever Cersei's opinion of the big woman, it likely wasn't kind. He had seen the two of them conversing at the wedding and in the chaos, he’d forgotten that he meant to ask Brienne about it 

"Aye," Bronn agrees soberly. “And Her Grace hates your brother most of all. You know, I helped him escort his lady out of King's Landing too."

That takes Jaime aback and he blinks at the sell-sword in surprise. "You mean his  _wife_?"

Tyrion had insisted that Sansa had nothing to do with Joff's murder and when Jaime prodded him for her whereabouts, the young Lannister said that he had no idea where she was. Jaime had believed him, but it was also possible that his brother could have hired someone to spirit her away somewhere he wouldn't know either.  It was just like Tyrion to do that. And if Bronn was the one to hide the girl—well, it would make everything much, much simpler.

It’s an encouraging notion and he glances over in Brienne's direction again. Perhaps the wench doesn't have to go anywhere after all. Perhaps they could convince Sansa to testify at Tyrion's trial. Perhaps the girl had seen something that could help them identify the real murderer and Cersei could be convinced to let them both go free.

No, he stops himself. _No_.  He should know better by now. Cersei is mad with grief and too quick to incite to violence. They will have to find the girl some place to hide. Could Varys be trusted? Perhaps he could arrange a ship to Pentos? Or Lys? Of course, the girl wouldn't go alone, she'd probably need...  

But Bronn is shaking his head.

"No, no," he explains, as if he can read Jaime’s thoughts. "The little camp follower with the dark hair and the funny accent. Her Grace wanted her dead too." He frowns at that. "You Lannisters are all arsebackward, if you ask me. What's the point of having all this money and power if the queen won't even let her brothers keep their whores?" 

"Brothers?" Jaime echoes, confused. His eyes widen as it then dawns on him. "You think—I'm not sending her away because... Brienne is not my  _whore_." 

"I'm not judging, m'lord. I personally like ‘em sturdy myself, though I can't say I've ever been with one that tall.”

Jaime snorts. "Don't be ridiculous."

Brienne would have sooner gelded a man than agreed to lay with him, and Jaime would’ve sooner fallen on his sword before he’d ever dream of taking any other woman for a lover other than Cersei.

And yet... and yet…

 Bronn cocks his head to one side, incredulous. "Really? The sword, the armor, the horse... Those are some fine gifts to be giving a broad you're not fucking."

  _The Stranger take you,_  Jaime thinks viciously, quickly tiring of the knave's insolent 'observations.' "You’re speaking of a High-Born Lady, Ser."

"Aye," Bronn returns smoothly. "A High-Born Lady you might never get to stand here mooning all over ever again." He tosses his head in Brienne's direction. "Deny it all you like, m'lord, but while you stay here valiantly defending the Lady's honor against the likes of me, she's over there, riding away." 

Although he loathes the idea of proving him right, Jaime turns his head, squinting against the sun. Brienne and her squire have reached the end of the road by now, but they seemed to have stopped for some reason. Pod has hopped down from his horse and is adjusting one of his saddle bags. Brienne is looking down, seemingly giving him some kind of instruction before she looks up and over at Jaime once more. 

Despite the distance, their eyes meet. Jaime is reacquainted with that strange, fluttery feeling again. 

"My Ma always said I was a romantic," Bronn laments, looking between the two of them with a much too smug grin. “But when I give a lady my favor in farewell, I prefer my goodbyes to be nice and proper. Especially when I care enough to pretend that I don't."

 _I pretend at nothing_ , Jaime wants to insist but he clenches his jaw instead. He thinks back to Harrenhal, where a disgraced knight and an ugly maiden took a bath together; where the knight confessed to killing a king; where a knight raced back to rescue a maiden from a bear.

He supposes all that sounds absurdly like something from the songs.

And yet, it is all the truth.

"Damn it all to the seven bloody hells," Jaime mutters and he finds himself starting forward, making up his mind on a decision he didn't even know he was contemplating. If they were a song, he supposes, then he'd better bloody well make it one worth singing about. "I’ll meet you back by the cliffs within the hour,” he tells Bronn. “No tourney swords, this time."

Bronn’s tone is sly. “Only an hour, m'lord?”

But Jaime does not hear him. He is already running down the road towards Brienne. 

"My Lady, stay!" he shouts. "There’s just one more thing I’ve forgot…!"


End file.
